This morning coming out of the rear gate of the complex, I was greeted by the spectacle of the ironwood across the street full in bloom.
"Right on schedule," I thought, remembering the date. I had learned several years back that the second week of May sees the flowering of the pink blossoms.
Driving towards the stoplight at Pima I perused the remaining patch of undeveloped desert and saw more pink blossoms. It was a satisfying beautiful spectacle, augmented by the fact that I appreciated them in the context of the mechanical rotation of the solar calendar. I made a note that I should go out to visit my ironwood, the ironwood, which once had a secret that I protected.
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